Feeding the Beast
by Othnieltcs
Summary: A young Blood Elf newly recruited into their order of paladins tries to deal with the menace of the Wretched in Silvermoon City.
1. Chapter 1

Feeding the Beast

Hunger. One of the most basic mortal experiences, inspiring lesser creatures to great deeds – and terrible deeds. Not that immortal beings were immune to such a sensation. Surely hunger played a part in Sargeras' tortured mind as he embarked on his crusade against all that was ordered. Hunger indisputably motivated the ancient Queen Azshara as she made her fateful pact with the Burning Legion, trading the fate of her world for the power that could satiate her.

And, of course, when the Undead Scourge fouled the waters of the Sunwell so thoroughly that it could no longer be used, hunger drove Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider to rename the survivors of Quel'thalas the Blood Elves and follow Illidan the Betrayer through the Dark Portal into Outland.

Each and every Blood Elf was victim to the same hunger that could not be satisfied – the hunger for the Sunwell's magical energies that were stolen from them. These days, one either learned to master the hunger or one was consumed by it, with consequences too severe to be believed. The fouling of the Sunwell left a hole in each Blood Elf every bit as profound as any lack of physical nourishment. The magic that had filled their lives in every way was diminished so greatly, it might as well have been gone entirely.

The transformations of those who gave in to their craving for more magical energies were nothing short of appalling. Cheeks sunk until the face took on an emaciated look, eyes hollowed out until no sign of intelligence behind them remained. Noses seemed to disappear entirely from the face, leaving a universal look of blankness, totally lacking in personality or even sentience. All that remained of them was their desire for more magic. Wretched in truth as well as name.

Deonius knew better than most how dangerous the creatures could be. Several times now he'd found a missing magister's apprentice literally torn apart by the Wretched in their desperation for magic. The Blood Knights had started sending initiates on regular patrols, which was Deon's duty this day, and occasionally even they did not report back.

In part because of the Wretched, the rebuilding of Silvermoon City was going very slowly. And with the most important part irretrievably lost, why not? There was a growing sentiment among the rebuilders that it would be better to simply abandon their longtime homeland and join their Prince in Outland.

Deonius heard the grinding of metal and the clanking of heavy footsteps, and drew his sword. These automated guardians, built of metal and powered by magic, were another reason why he was here. In the parts of Silvermoon not yet reclaimed, the guardians had resorted to attacking everything they saw. So much was in chaos, even these many years after the Scourge invasion.

"Protect the innocent," the magical construct boomed. A laughable statement, since any innocents in this part of the city had long since been killed by the Wretched, if not by this "patroller" itself. As if to punctuate the absurdity of the declaration, its huge right hand swung viciously at Deon's head before he could make a witty reply.

He found the time after ducking under the clumsy swing. "A rival competitor, eh?" He gripped his sword in both hands, momentarily regretting his failure to bring a weapon more suited to smashing this thing. As it stepped toward him, he crouched low and the guardian leaned down to try to grab him. Leaping over its grabbing hands, Deonius brought his sword up and smashed its pommel down on the construct's head.

As sparks flew from the caved-in metal, the guardian wobbled and crashed to the ground. The Paladin summoned a beam of the Holy Light and blasted the Arcane Guardian while it was down, then watched impatiently as the construct twitched and sparked for several moments before finally lying still. He approached the metallic guardian and searched for the panel he had been told would be on its back. If he needed special tools for this job after all, someone in Falconwing Square would pay dearly for the misinformation.

Almost disappointingly, the panel was fairly easy to find and easier to open. He still had a hard time believing that these Arcane Guardians could be at all effective if it was this easy to remove their power cores. "Efficient maintenance be damned," he muttered as he tucked the power core in a satchel. Did no one believe in functionality anymore?

The scuffle had taken him near a building, and he stopped for a moment, startled. There it was again – a soft sound, muffled and barely audible, coming from within the abandoned home. Any wretched who might have heard the struggle would have come running, either to kill the victor and drain what mana they could, or to obtain magic from the vanquished. He kept his sword ready as he approached the building. Had he found one of those wretched who retained enough of their minds to try to be clever?

Even mindless wretched could be dangerous to the unwary, but some few managed to handle the transformation with a degree of grace, retaining enough sentience to express themselves, boss others around, and in some cases even make plans and develop tactics. It was those "ringleaders" who were responsible for most of the losses suffered by those still struggling to restore order to the whole of Silvermoon City.

In this case, however, Deonius' caution was wasted. He found only a perfectly normal Blood Elf huddled against a wall. Her sobs could only be those of a commoner who had wandered down the wrong path and now found herself nothing more than a living mana-well, drained and drained by the wretched until she was starved to death. He shuffled his feet rather loudly as he approached, hoping to avoid startling her. She did not seem to notice his presence in the least. A cough also produced no reaction, her head nothing but a mass of red waves resting on her arms as she sniffled and sobbed and wept.

"Madam," Deonius finally said, and nearly jumped himself as the elf's head snapped up.

"Oh!" She cried.

"Madam, quickly!" Deon reached out his hand to help her to her feet.

She stared at the hand, then looked up at his face. "Who… who are you?"

"My name…"

"What are you _doing_ here?"

Deonius couldn't help noticing that she seemed to be growing more frightened by the moment, but it only added to his impatience. "Trying to get you out of here, silly girl!"

She stared at him with eyes as wide as they could go, then glanced over to a nearby doorway. "But…"

"Quickly!" He grabbed her arm and tried to drag the woman to her feet.

"No!" She slid along the floor as he pulled, trying in vain to free her arm. "Wait, wait! He needs me!"

Deon's brow furrowed. "There is another victim?"

The woman's words poured out of her, almost too quickly to understand. "He can be studied… brought back… I _know_ he's not all gone… still in there, he's **still in there**!" The last words came out in a shriek as Deonius finally managed to pull her to her feet. Weary of the sound of her voice, he put his hand over her mouth and leaned forward to meet her eyes. He spoke slowly and clearly, as if to a child. "If I remove my hand, will you tell me your name?"

She nodded, eyes wide.

"Calmly and quietly?"

She blushed, her eyes glancing down, and nodded once more.

"Excellent." He removed his hand, but kept it up in case a slap was needed.

"Ailithera."

"Well, Ailithera, now that we are communicating like civilized creatures, allow me to introduce myself. I am Deonius, a Blood Knight."

"I can tell what you are, Deonius," the woman snapped.

"And I can tell what _you_ are, Magistrix Ailithera."

"Then you should know enough to listen…"

"No, _you_ will listen, unless you want scandal to bring you so low even the least trained novice would laugh at the very sight of you."

The woman's eyes flashed dangerously, but her pouty lips stayed shut for once.

"I am going upstairs, and once the Wretched scum are eliminated you are going back to Falconwing Square with me, where I will make my reports of how you were ambushed and held hostage, yes?"

"Please." Her mouth twisted at the very word, but Deonius was impressed that someone of her standing forced it out. "Please don't kill him."

"Still you protect these Wretched? My vow of silence only counts for myself. Leaving loose ends only invites discovery and humiliation."

"There has to be a cure! No one's bothered to study, only to reject!"

"The safety of our few remaining citizens must be paramount. He is Wretched; he must die."

"He's not Wretched, damn you! He's my brother!"

Finally Deon understood. "He's Wretched _and_ your brother."

"Promise me!"

The Blood Knight sighed. "I will do what I can to spare him. What does he look like?"


	2. Part 2

Deon stomped up the stairs to the top of the building. _Let_ them know he was coming. Let the abominations hear the sound of their doom. He burst into the only room on the top floor, immediately impaling one of the wretched as it stood by the door, no doubt eagerly awaiting a fresh source of magic.

Two others immediately shambled toward him. Deonius easily parried the clumsy swipe of the wretched on his right. As he brought his shield up to defend against the other one, however, it started trying to feed on his magic.

His knees wobbled at the sensation of his aura being drained. That might be enough, by itself, to overcome a civilian. But Deon had felt it before. The Wretched was so greedy for the energies it was absorbing, it gave no thought to any protection for itself. One well-placed stab stopped its feeding quickly enough.

Deon looked up to see the last one running toward the stairs. Enough of a mind left to flee a hopeless situation? He had already forgotten the meaningless description, but he was sure this one must be the woman's brother. Quick as a viper, his sword flashed, catching the creature on the back of the leg. It stumbled and fell, uttering a low moan. Deon was impressed – most wretched did not even bother to vocalize. "Redemption?" He muttered as he looked down at the piteous creature. Once it had been an elf just like him, now it was blindly struggling to get back up like a wounded animal, its only thought on survival. "I think not," he answered himself. He threw down his shield to grip his sword in two hands, bringing the blade down on the creature's neck in the style of an execution. The sharp blade, glowing and pulsing with the power of the Holy Light, met little resistance as it sliced cleanly through flesh and bone alike. The creature's head fell and rolled toward the stairs, stopping when it came to a pair of feet. Ailithera's feet.

"_Liar,"_ hissed the magistrix, and brought her hands up.

Deonius' instincts prompted him to act before she'd even moved. A magical shield formed around him, and he summoned as much of the Holy Light's energy as he could. He needed every moment of his head start – ice, fire, and pure magical energy assaulted him with the kind of speed only a very skilled mage could command. He healed himself of searing burns that nearly made him black out from pain, chills so fierce his skin nearly fell off his bones, and arcane bolts so forceful he was nearly lifted off his feet.

In the end, it was her willingness to let her brother drain her energies that made the difference. Under different circumstances, Deon had to doubt his ability to keep up with the barrage Ailithera was unleashing, but just as he was beginning to fall behind her constant casting of spells, she collapsed in a faint – her energies completely spent.


	3. Part 3

The captain in Falconwing Square was somewhat less than pleased. "I send you on a routine patrol and you come back with a civilian, bound gagged and unconscious?" The elf eyed the woman draped over Deonius' shoulder as if she were last week's trash, certainly not making any move to help her.

"She claimed she was a Magistrix… by the name of Ailithera?"

The captain scowled, flipping back the soft red curls to have a better look at the woman's face. After a moment he lifted an eyebrow. "So it is. Ailithera Cloudscryer in the flesh. You had better hope she never finds out your name, recruit. This one's ability to hold a grudge is something of a legend."

Deon could not hold back a wince. "She knows it. She begged me not to kill one of the Wretched… claimed it was her brother."

"Was she plotting to use them to stage a coup?"

"Er… not exactly. She claimed to believe she could study them, find a cure. I think she just visited so he could feed from her abilities. Couldn't bear to leave a sibling to his fate."

The captain threw back his head and laughed. "A juicy story either way, recruit. But if you think such a scandal will somehow save your pathetic hide from her wrath, I'm afraid you have things quite backwards."

Deon scowled as he felt her begin to stir.


	4. Part 4

He sat in the darkness, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing around him. He thought of the eyes of the magistrix, blazing with hate and the promise of revenge. He had found the nicest bed in Falconwing Square's inn to drop her onto, but she'd been fully awake by then and he valued his life too much to unbind her himself.

He wished there could be a cure found. But the years since the wretched first appeared had been long, and Ailithera was right. No one was interested in the fate of those creatures, only in pretending they didn't exist until the day they were all dead. He wished her brother didn't have to die. But she needed to let go of her baseless hope before it sapped her will for more important things. He'd _had_ to kill the creature.

He sat brooding in the darkness, heedless of the monstrous face gazing at him as his magic was slowly drained from his aura. The face of what had once been Deonius' favorite niece. He'd had to kill Ailithera's brother. For her own good.

The End

AN: I've noticed there are problems with formatting breaks longer than a paragraph here. What I've done is separated each break into "chapters." Some of the sections are really short, though. I'm curious as to anyone's opinion whether this is a good workaround or too distracting.


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